Telephone Booth

by Fr. Jeff

The coffee really wasn’t that great. Maybe because it had been in the pot too long; maybe I just didn’t care for the type of sugar. For almost an hour, we talked about our parishes and laughed at each other’s stories. However, the coffee was only half the reason I went to see him.

Of our entire conversation, it was the last five minutes that mattered the most. I went first: “Forgive me, Father…” Two-and-a-half minutes later, I wasn’t speaking anymore; he was: “Forgive me, Father…”

From pentient to confessor and back again in no time flat.

And I didn’t even need to use a telephone booth.